On The Steps
by SpyKid18
Summary: Missing Cristina and Owen moments from Season 5.  Each chapter is one episode.  C/O
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this is what happens after he says "I think you're beautiful". Or at least what happens in my mind ;)**

On The Steps

She had no idea what she was doing. First he had pushed her against that wall outside of Joe's and fused his mouth to hers. Then he had treated her with indifference. And now, he was sitting outside her apartment, turning down an invitation up because it was not appropriate. Yet, here she was, wanting to be nowhere else than beside him on those steps.

Appropriate, she hated that word.

Nothing between them was appropriate. It wasn't appropriate when he treated her roughly at work. It wasn't appropriate when he had her back pressed against a wall. And it sure as hell wasn't appropriate for him to wait for her outside her apartment. For all his efforts to be so damn appropriate, he was failing miserably.

"I think you're beautiful."

She turned her head toward him, her gaze softening. She didn't understand him. This man was far more complicated than anyone that she had dealt with. He was darker and twister than her, than Meredith. But, hell, he made her _feel_. He made her insides twist and pull, and she hadn't felt that way in a long time.

"Would it be appropriate for us to grab some coffee?" she asked.

The lines beside his mouth deepened as he frowned. "Not really."

"What if we discussed cases?"

His features softened as he smiled slightly and answered, "The answer is still probably no."

"So what, we just sit here?" To be honest, she wasn't entirely against that. She liked the feel of him beside her. He was sturdy and solid, so much so that her palms itched to touch him. Her words seemed to bring him back to his senses, though, because he exhaled loudly and muttered, "I should go."

"No," she said immediately, a knee jerk response to her desire for him to stay. He looked down at her, alarmed by her strong reaction. His jaw tensed and he stared at the pavement as he bit out, "I'm not usually like this. I'm very good at separating work and everything else."

She had never attempted to separate the two, so she couldn't understand. Work and personal life had always been intertwined. Colin Marlowe, Burke, there had been no separation. There had never been a reason to.

"We can just be friends," she offered. His eyes stayed trained on the pavement and she understood the implicit response. He wanted more; she did, too. Where else could they go from this impasse, though?

"Sure," he replied after a moment, his voice devoid of emotion. "Friends."

They weren't getting anywhere. That much was clear, and the longer they sat the more it hurt. "Well, I'm going to head in," she said, standing up. She wiped the back of her jeans off casually and asked, "You sure you don't want to come in?"

He stood up. "Yeah, I should be getting home."

"Alright, well, see you tomorrow."

She turned away from him, gathering her hair into a high bun as she walked over to the door. She fumbled with her key, wanting to turn but afraid that he would already be gone. She hadn't heard him leave but the ringing in her ears was so loud that she could have missed his retreat. Her key finally slipped into the hole and as she turned it she heard definite movement behind her.

_Guess he's leaving now_, she thought.

She braved one last look behind her and gasped when she found him climbing the steps up toward her. Her eyes widened as he took a hold of her waist, but her arms slid around his neck without hesitation. Their mouths met and he crushed her against him, moving one hand up to cradle her cheek.

It probably was not the greatest idea to make out with Owen Hunt in front of her apartment, but Cristina couldn't find one valid reason to stop. There was something thrilling about kissing him in plain sight. She had felt the same jolt of electricity outside Joe's, but this felt even stronger without the taste of alcohol on their lips.

And the man could kiss. It had kept her awake at night ever since that damned icicle, and her memory had served her correctly. His tongue slid along her own and his stubble rubbed almost painfully against her delicate skin. He would leave a mark, she thought. But who was she kidding? He already had.

He pulled away first, breathing ragged. His eyes were hooded with the same bottomless lust that had bloomed in the bottom of her belly, but there was something else. Resistance. Regret. She could read it all over his face; it was his turn to walk away.

And she would let him. This was their game, she supposed. Both lashed out recklessly until one left in a hurry, tail between their legs. The struggle read plainly on his face, and she let him off easy by turning without a word, returning her hand to the key and unlocking the door. She stepped in and her body angled toward him as she carefully closed it. Their eyes met once before the door separated them.

She laid one hand on the door, knowing full well that he was still there. She shook her head slightly and murmured, "What are we doing?"

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed yet another scene of C/O face-eating. lol Because that is totally how I was envisioning that kiss. Oh yeah ;-)**

** Please leave feedback! I am considering continuing this. It would have the main events of the season with my own little add-ins. Let me know if you'd be interested!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm so glad that you all enjoyed the last chapter! So, clearly I decided to continue. Let me tell you how this story will proceed. Each chapter will be one episode. I will either re-interpret written scenes or create new ones to compliment those already on the show. Basically, this will be C/O heaven :D**

_All By Myself_: Outside of Time and Space

Each person has their own personal hell. For Meredith it was having to spend any time with Thatcher and company. For Karev, it was facing his past. For Cristina, it was winning the first solo surgery-an accolade she undoubtedly deserved-and then having to hand it over to another, undeserving resident. It was impossible to make the decision. How could she choose when the person who really deserved to be in there was herself? She didn't want Karev in there. She didn't want Meredith. Or George.

All day they had been bothering her, giving her these flowery speeches while her eyes glazed over. Didn't they know how hard this was for her? Didn't they understand that this was impossible? Her own personal hell.

But still, it was a job and she would do what was asked of her. She always was task oriented and at the moment this was her task. Find her replacement. So, she would listen to their stupid speeches, nod her head at the appropriate times, and make her decision. If only she could come to one.

"You know who you're going to pick?" She looked up from her seat, welcoming the distraction of Owen Hunt. Her lips tingled at the memory of what had transpired outside of her apartment. Neither of them had spoken of it since that day, but she had noticed his treatment of her change. While he still kept her at an arm's distance, he was no longer indifferent.

"I'm ranking them according to a system," she began, explaining to him all the criteria she was sorting through in her mind. Saying it aloud, she realized it was a rather exhaustive list.

"You know them and you know their capabilities," he said simply. "Go with your gut."

She snorted at his ridiculous abstract mumbo-jumbo. For such a smart man, he sometimes had the stupidest ideas. "I'm not going to let a patient's life depend on my gut."

"Well it worked for me," he said, shrugging easily. Her eyes snapped to his and she felt something in the bottom of her belly flutter.

"Your gut?"

"It's what told me to choose you."

She watched him walk away and wondered if he was only talking about surgeries.

* * *

She had made her choice. She met her task head on and worked her way to a decision. Alex Karev. He had outlined each step of the surgery to her in the bathroom, showing his competence. And he hadn't kissed her ass. Decision made, Cristina walked away from the puppy-dog eyes of the remaining residents and did something she rarely did. She hid.

She sat in dermatology, the one place in the hospital where she could escape the competition and pressure. She didn't have to hear about the surgery that should have been hers or all the murmuring over her pick. She didn't hear anything. Silence.

"Dermatology," a voice said from behind her. She turned and watched Owen move around the couch and sit beside her. "I thought there was only the OR, ER, and place with the food."

She stretched her legs in front of her. "Well, you can add this to the list."

"I heard you picked Karev," he said. "Interesting choice."

"He was the most prepared," she said simply. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and said, "Whatever, it's over. Now I don't have to hear Izzie talk to me about sex and have everyone kissing my ass. I'm glad it's over."

"You okay?"

Throughout the entire day, he had been the only person to ask. She turned her head away from him and stared at a stained bit of carpet. She figured if she focused on one thing, one spot, she wouldn't cry. He didn't push her to turn back, and she was grateful for that. He didn't say a word, instead moving his hand beside her leg so that his wrist brushed her knee.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt.

"I know."

They were quiet for a moment until she cleared her throat and said, "Well, I should head back there."

"You're going to watch it?"

With a voice entirely devoid of levity she muttered, "I want to be there if he screws it up."

She stood and headed to the elevators, leaving him alone on the couch.

* * *

It was not easy to sit in the observation deck, waiting for Karev to walk out and perform the surgery that was rightfully hers. It was not easy, and neither was listening to Meredith go on and about separating personal life and work when she was climbing into bed at night with an attending. It was ridiculous and she felt her anger spike as she threw a smart retort in Meredith's face, the room suffocating. She stood up suddenly and stormed out, vaguely aware of Owen watching her leave from the corner of the room.

She stopped just outside of the room, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks as her hands balled into fists at her side. She wasn't surprised when she heard him behind her. He took a hold of her arm and said, "Not here."

Cristina Yang was never pushed or pulled, but she allowed him to pull her into the stairwell. She followed without so much as a word, her general bad mood overshadowing any ounce of stubbornness left in her. The stubbornness resurfaced, though, as they went further down the stairwell. They passed the first floor of the hospital and she asked, "Where are we going?"

They entered the boiler room and she seriously questioned Owen's thought process. She needed a stiff drink, not a trip below the hospital. He seemed to think otherwise, though, as he said, "Don't worry. You'll like it."

She highly doubted that, but followed him anyway. He led her over to the vent and they stood on it, his eyes boring into her own with an intensity that she didn't understand. His face read excitement but she could hardly match his sentiments as she began to think of all the drinks she could be downing instead of standing on some stupid vent.

"Wait." He ordered, giving her a small grin. "Just wait." She was waiting and getting awful sick of it. "Wait." She wanted to leave. She wanted to get out of the hospital. She wanted to get away and-

A gust of air came from the vent, ballooning her scrub top and tossing her hair up around her face. Her mouth fell open and she breathed in deeply.

"It's okay. It's good, right?" She nodded, closing her eyes as another gust nearly lifted her off the ground. "It's the vent. It clears your head. You feel better, right?"

Her eyes opened and she gazed at this man who had somehow managed to make her forget about what was happening in that OR. "Yes, yeah."

"It's out of time. Out of space. Anything can happen on a vent. Anything."

"Like what?" she asked softly, already leaning in toward him. His eyes were bright as he murmured, "Just wait."

And she listened. She waited and laughed freely as the vent moved her clothes and hair, moved her. He was looking down at her, lips curled into a soft grin. She reached up without hesitation and her lips met his. Arms encircled her waist and held her tightly as she felt the floor slip from her feet. It was a real good thing he was holding her so tightly because her knees didn't feel strong enough to support her body, not when his mouth was doing such interesting things to hers. He slipped one arm from her waist and braced the back of her head with his hand, the sensation of his fingertips brushing the nape of her neck making her bite down on his lip. The arm around her waist pulled her even closer.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep._

He pulled away, his breathing ragged as his forehead rested against hers and he hastily pulled his pager off his waistband. Forehead still touching hers, he looked down and swore under his breath. Her arms remained around his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. "I have to go," he murmured.

"Okay."

She noticed that he made no move to actually leave and smiled slightly. "Go," she pressed, dropping her arms from his neck. "Go, Owen."

"You okay now?"

She nodded and said, "Yeah, I always am."

A small understanding passed between the two of them, the perfect performance both of them put on for their unassuming publics, and she nodded her head slightly before saying, "Really, Owen, go."

He dropped his arms from her waist and turned toward the stairwell. When he didn't feel her behind him, he turned and looked at her questioningly. She was still standing on the vent, watching his retreat. "I'm going to stay here for a bit," she told him.

"Okay."

He didn't hesitate again, moving directly toward the stairwell and closing the door behind him. She turned away from the door, closing her eyes as she braced herself for what was coming. She waited. And waited. And then-

It took her breath away. She closed her eyes and remembered the touch of his lips, the strength of his arms. The heat radiating from his body as she was pressed so close that she could feel his heart beat. It took her breath away.

**A/N: How did you like this? Next chapter is all written!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: New chapter! **

_Wish You Were Here: A Night at Joe's_

She sat at the bar, trying to shake the trembling in her hands but unable stop thinking about what he had said. In her job, she saw the loss of human life daily. She saw people fight for one more day, one more hour. And yet, here was someone who willingly robbed others of their extra day, extra hour. He did it willingly and _enjoyed_ it.

"Sick bastard," she breathed out, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to settle her breathing. Joe strolled over and gestured toward her glass with the bottle of scotch. "Another?"

"Yeah, sure."

"On the house," Joe said with a kind smile. "Looks like you need it."

"Uh, thanks."

She watched him fill the drink, her eyes following the amber liquid. Joe gave her a small nod when he was finished and she reached toward the glass as he moved on to serve another customer. She curled her fingers around the glass, pulling it toward her and then lifting it to her mouth for a long sip. When she returned the glass to the counter he had taken the seat beside her.

"Owen," she sighed. "I told you-"

"I know what you told me," he interrupted. "I know."

"Then what are you doing here?" she asked wearily. "Because I'm really not in the mood for you right now. I just-I can't."

"I'm no good at this," he said. Looking at him, she could tell that this was supposed to serve as an explanation. Snorting softly she thought, _bad explanation, McMan_.

He looked perplexed by her reaction and asked, "Do-do you find this funny?"

"Yes," she said, propping her elbow on the bar and resting her head on her hand. "I find this funny. The bipolar behavior, the jerking me around, all of it-_fucking_ hilarious."

"Cristina-"

"Look, if you're so bad at this then just stop. Go back to ignoring me. Please, do that! Just stop pulling me in and then pushing me away because I can't do it anymore."

He didn't say anything for a moment, but his eyes roved over her face. She could tell he was trying to read her, to understand her. She knew because her eyes did the same thing with him. Neither of them understood the other, not really, so they didn't know how to field the landmines on the way to whatever their future held. "Okay," he finally said. "I'll stop."

He didn't clarify as to what he would stop doing, and she didn't ask. To be honest, she was too afraid that she would hear something that she didn't like. Instead she nodded and told him, "Good. Thank you."

"So, I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

She answered with a sarcastic lift of her glass. His small grin lacked any trace of joy as he pushed off the stool and said, "Alright, then I'll see you tomorrow."

He hesitated for a moment, probably waiting for some semblance of a goodbye, but all she did was raise her drink to her lips. Met with nothing but a cold shoulder, he left.

She didn't say goodbye because it was the absolute last thing she wanted to do. It was painful to have him sit there beside her, but she couldn't deny that she wanted it. She wanted him next to her. She wanted him to stop pushing her away, to choose her.

_I'm sounding like Meredith_, she thought.

Her mood only worsened when she thought of her wayward friend, because this was the exact sort of thing she would discuss with her. She would talk through his odd behavior and then the two of them would commiserate over the stupidity of men.

"Men are stupid," Callie slurred, dropping in the seat beside her. Cristina glanced over at her roommate and said, "You can say that again."

"Sloan, he is an _idiot_. Hooking up with Lexie Grey. It's just-"

"Sloan is getting it on with little Grey?" Cristina asked, nearly spitting out her drink. Callie's eyes widened and she murmured, "You didn't hear it from me."

Cristina glanced back at the table of interns and watched Mark Sloan lead Lexie away from the pack. She chuckled darkly and thought to herself that at least one woman had it worse than her.

**A/N: Feedback would be awesome. Yay.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This was supposed to be up tomorrow night, but I couldn't help myself! Hope you like this!**

Never According to Plan: That's Life

Cristina Yang was pissed.

She had spent time on her hair.

Lined her eyes with charcoal.

Put on freaking lipstick.

And McMan didn't even have the decency to show up on time. Five minutes she would understand, hell even ten. But over an hour late? The guy was a surgeon, so he had to be marginally smart, but at the moment she was thinking that he was a pretty big dumbass.

For months it had been push and pull. Push and pull. One day he liked her, the next she was nothing. One minute they were making out over the vent and then the next it was like she didn't exist. This wasn't the first time she had experienced coupling problems. Her time with Burke had offered a whole host of problems but at least she understood him. He acted rationally, while Owen was all over the place. Erratic was Owen Hunt's tag and she didn't know how to field that.

Her phone buzzed and she pulled it from the table. She expected it to be him with some lame excuse, but it was Izzie, instead. She found this strange because Izzie rarely texted her, something she liked, but she couldn't help but snort when she read:

_How's the date with McMan?_

Figuring she had nothing better to do, she texted back.

_McMan hasn't shown up yet._

A few seconds later, her phone buzzed.

_Seriously? I'd be pissed._

Cristina began to text back, but stopped when there was a knock on her door. She sighed and pulled herself from the couch, chewing on her bottom lip in agitation as she hesitated for one moment in front of the door. She figured it was him; in fact, she _knew_ it was. He was standing behind that door, probably with some stupid excuse or lame explanation.

She couldn't leave him standing there, though.

Opening the door, she could never have prepared herself for what she saw. He was holding flowers, a sorry attempt to make up for what she was already seeing would be a disastrous first date. She thought of what Izzie had said earlier about the first date being so important and stepped back suddenly as Owen walked into the apartment. The stench of liquor hit her nose and she felt her temper flare.

He was drunk.

The first date-the one that was so important-and he showed up drunk. Immediately she began berating him, unable to stop herself from using her sharp tongue. She had primped for him, damn it. She had fussed and pouffed and then he showed up drunk? She didn't need this.

And he needed a shower.

When she told him this, he paused for a moment and then made his way over to her bedroom. She sighed and snapped, "Not here!"

Drunk Owen was not the best listener, though, and when she got into the bathroom he was already in her shower, fully clothed and dripping wet. Surprisingly, this did not make her more angry. It was too ridiculous to make her angry, because Owen Hunt was standing fully dressed in her shower. If it weren't so pathetic, she would have laughed.

But it _was_ pathetic. It was pathetic, and depressing, and then he began to describe his best surgery. He called it both his best and worst, and her heart broke as he described a scene that she could only imagine. She wished then that she hadn't been so callous with her words before. She wished that she had been a caring, understanding person because surely they wouldn't have snapped. They would have seen that something was off and taken a moment to think. All she had done was fly off the handle.

When he was finished she silently slipped off her shoes and stepped into the shower with him. Water sprayed her face, mussing up all that primping and fussing, but she didn't care. She couldn't speak, so instead reached up and took his face in her hands, hoping her touch would convey everything that words couldn't. His gaze was hazy, but the pain was real and devastatingly fresh. Sliding her hands down to his shoulders, she carefully stepped around him and turned off the water. Slipping her arm around his torso, she led him out of the shower. He followed her docilely, head hung low, but she noticed his gaze shift toward her now and then as if he were checking that she was really there. She pressed her fingers into his side in an attempt to tell him that she was.

She led him to her bedroom and thought to herself that it really was unfortunate that she would be undressing him for entirely innocent reasons. This was not how things were supposed to turn out. They were supposed to get here after the date. She would undress him and he would undress her. R-rated things would ensue.

Things rarely turned out how they were supposed to, though. Cristina learned that a long time ago.

She thought he would put some sort of resistance up when she attempted to undress him, but he didn't say a word. Eyes trained on the ground, he moved his limbs when appropriate, stepped out of pants when needed. She pulled back the covers to her bed and helped him in, pulling the sheets up to cover him when he began to shiver. When he finally spoke, he murmured quietly, "I'm so sorry, Cristina."

In a similar tone she answered, "I forgive you."

He nodded softly and his eyes drifted shut. She didn't know what to do then, Owen asleep in her bed and an overwhelming desire to join him. First order of business, though, was to change out of her own soaked clothes. She stepped away and went over to her dresser, pulling out a large t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. She stripped of her clothes, shaking her head a bit when she found herself down to only the lacy lingerie she had chosen for the night. No use for them now, she thought despondently, changing into her pajamas.

Fully dressed, she glanced over at Owen. He was curled up at the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched in slumber. She could tell he wasn't sleeping well. His breathing was uneven and she could detect his legs moving beneath her comforter. Gingerly, she climbed beside him on the bed. Laying atop the comforter, she scooted behind him and draped her arm over him. She was frozen for that first moment, unsure she had done the correct thing until she felt his breathing settle. His legs stilled and she went to move from the bed but his arm covered hers, pressing it to his chest. Her breath hitched when she realized that her and Owen were in fact spooning.

So much this night that she had not anticipated.

His skin was warm against hers and although he smelled of liquor, there was another scent that ushered in memories of icicles and air vents. He shifted beside her, turning onto his back. Arm slung over his chest, her chin rested on his bare shoulder. She didn't attempt to move and realized that she didn't want to. She closed her eyes and eventually drifted asleep.

GA-GA-GA

She woke up first. He snored softly beside her and as she blinked groggily, the night came back to her. Carefully she disentangled herself from him and moved over to the chair by the window. She drew her knees to her chest and thought to herself that this had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, this one jumps back to when Cristina and Owen first met. It takes place in the second part of the season premiere. Hope you enjoy this :)**

Dream A Little Dream of Me: Icicles

One minute she was expertly using her skills to debone a chicken (one of the few good things Burke had left her) and then she was staring up into the face of one Owen Hunt, pain spreading through her abdomen as she attempted to grapple with the reality that she had, in fact, been impaled by an icicle.

Seriously, between her and Meredith there was a Lifetime movie somewhere.

"Damsel in distress," Owen said with a wry grin. _Damsel in distress, my ass_, Cristina thought, but she was unable to answer, only breath out hoarsely as he reached down and gathered her into his arms. He carried her bridal style over the threshold of the hospital and she squeezed her eyes shut.

This was impossible. This day, this _whole_ day was impossible. She nearly killed a man on the table because Hahn decided to have a teaching moment. She saw her own sutures flood the man's open body cavity with blood. And then she slipped and was impaled with an icicle.

Ain't life grand?

Meredith had already prepared a room for her, and when she intercepted her and Major Hunt in the corridor she quickly ushered them toward it. Major Hunt lowered her onto the bed and both of them launched into an overly thorough examination.

"I'm fine," Cristina said through clenched teeth. "Just get the damn thing out of me and I will be fine."

"Hold still," Major Hunt instructed.

"I should tell the Chief about this," Meredith said decisively. She turned to leave but Cristina grabbed her arm and held on with a tight grip.

"He can't see me like this," she bit out, Meredith giving her an exasperated look as Major Hunt took her vitals. "I nearly killed a man. The chief cannot-"

To further prove that this day was utterly impossible, the Chief walked in right on cue and she groaned loudly as the Chief demanded what had happened.

"Just take it out," she snapped, balling her hands into fists. The damn thing hurt and all she wanted was for it to be out. But then Major Hunt started going on about being stabbed in the chest and some nonsense about how her breathing made it okay to keep this melting icicle in her stomach.

"It stays in," the Chief decreed and she swallowed her irritation, although it flashed clearly in her eyes. "You can instruct your interns how to treat you."

She snorted irritably and Major Hunt smirked beside her. She wanted to smack him because he did not know her nearly long enough to smirk at behavior, but the icicle kept her from moving.

Impossible.

This day was _freaking_ impossible.

* * *

Cristina was a banner intern in her day and she thought that it was complete shit that she got stuck with every dud available. It was like Bailey had gone to the land of misfit interns and sent every single one her way.

Taking pictures of her with their camera phones.

If she weren't stuck in a hospital bed she would have strangled them. She wanted to strangle that Major Hunt, too. He walked in as she was scolding the misfits, none of them putting their phones away fast enough, and all he did was laugh. Yes, he laughed which only served to undermine her generally effective yelling.

"Your interns seem attentive," he remarked, checking on her stats.

"Disrespectful," she hissed. "That's what it is. Taking pictures of me with their camera? I am impaled by an icicle. I can't defend myself. I am helpless here. I am _indisposed_."

He had been glancing at her chart and flipped it shut as he returned, "If you were in their place, you'd do the same exact thing."

"I-" she stopped when she saw that he was right and shut her mouth firmly. When she looked over at him he was smirking. "Shut up."

"You know, you're kind of rude," he returned lightly. "I saved you out there."

"You did not," she spat. "Meredith was running to get someone."

"Admit it, I saved you."

Cristina rolled her eyes. "Fine, you were _all_ sorts of heroic. Now, think that we can get someone in here to get this icicle out of me. It is hitting nothing. See?" She gestured toward the xray and he stepped toward it, nodding as he examined the path of the icicle.

"A clean path."

"Yeah, it would have been more clean if it didn't enter my body. Instead it-"

He had returned to her side as she went on, and she stopped talking as he leaned forward much too close for people who had met not hours before. She looked at him oddly, becoming somewhat alarmed when he leaned in even closer.

His eyes darted to her mouth and she felt something bloom in the pit of her stomach as her lips parted. As her eyes scanned his there was a sudden sharp pain, and then his eyes danced. Her icicle was in his hand and she glanced down at it, then back at him. He still hadn't moved away from her, even with his task completed.

"My icicle," she stammered. "I-I didn't give you permission to do that."

"So?"

"You can't just go around pulling out people's icicles."

"Why not?" he remarked, grabbing a piece of gauze from behind him and pressing down on the wound. "You wanted it out."

"I wanted it out surgically," she clarified, wincing when he pressed down harder on the wound. "Ow, you could try being a little gentler, you know."

"There's no time for a light touch out in the field."

"Yes, well, right now you are in a hospital with air conditioning and running water. React accordingly."

He frowned but she felt the pressure lighten. A few minutes passed and then he went over to the surgical cart, finding some sutures and then returning to her side. She propped her head up on her arm, watching him work on the wound. For all of his haste with the staples before, he worked carefully on her side. He didn't look at her as he worked, instead softly humming something tune just beneath his breath. She noticed he sutured in time.

"Tell me about trauma surgery," she said.

His eyes lit up when he described his field. There was a pride he had in his work that she recognized. This was more than a job for him and she could appreciate that.

"You ever make mistakes?"

"Yeah, everyone makes mistakes."

She kept her eyes trained on his deft hands as she said, "I nearly killed a man today."

His focus broke for only a moment and then he was at work again as she found herself telling him about her surgery. The man was practically a stranger, but she had the irrational feeling that he understood her. It occurred to her that she was telling him more than she had told people she'd known for months. Maybe it had something to do with the overwhelming odds that she would never see him again. It was probably that.

"Mistakes are how you learn," he told her. He finished off the suture and said, "There, finished."

Suture complete, she realized it was probably time for her Army doctor to go back to wherever he came from. She suddenly found herself thinking that another icicle might not be too bad.

The door opened and the Chief walked in. He inspected her suture with a cursory glance and then turned his attention on to Major Hunt. She pretended not to listen as the Chief made polite conversation, leading to the main attraction of a job offer. Unable to remain completely neutral, her lips parted and she glanced up at Major Hunt.

"I'm actually going to be returning to my tour of duty," Major Hunt replied.

She lowered her gaze, disappointment coloring her eyes. Chief sounded just as disappointed, no doubt craving some fresh talent after that number twelve ranking, and he saw himself out of the room. Alone, she watched with mild interest as Major Hunt moved over to the window and closed the blinds. Just as she was about to ask what he was doing, he strode over to her and covered her mouth with his own.

To say that she was surprised would be an understatement, but she kissed him back instinctively. His hand cradled her face, tilting her head back as she opened her mouth to him. The kiss was messy. Impulsive. She could nearly forget herself in the feel of his lips against hers.

But she did remember herself. She remembered that she was making out with someone in a recovery room. And she barely knew him. Pulling away brusquely she stammered, "Wait-I don't even know you."

A slight smile and he returned, "So?"

He stepped away from her with that smile still playing on his lips and turned. He gathered his few effects and then left the room. Sitting on the bed with her mouth still tingling she thought to herself that the day had somehow proven even more impossible.

**A/N: I am rewatching Season 5 now, so this story is on my radar again :D I am definitely enjoying getting back into it, and I hope you all are too!**

** Please leave feedback.**


	6. Chapter 6

Stairway to Heaven: Elevator Talk

The elevator doors were closing and just as the two opposite sides were to meet, one hand shot through the small gap and caused the doors to jerk open again. Cristina had recognized the hand, something that bothered her more than a little, and she offered Owen an uncomfortable nod as he moved beside her. He nodded back and the doors slid shut.

She didn't know what to say to him as they rode up to the surgical wing. She was tending to the death-row guy. He was probably dealing with his own patients. He had apologized, which should have cleared the air. And it did for the most part. She knew they would probably never touch on that disaster of a first date again, and if she were being honest she didn't want to. Still, with the air cleared they should have been able to talk, but instead she was stealing little glances as he read a flier on the elevator wall repeatedly.

She shifted her weight between her feet and noticed his head turn slightly toward her. Daring a glance, their eyes met and she hurriedly looked away. The silence was maddening, her entire body rigid with tension as she waited for someone to do something.

Her.

Him.

Someone had to break the ice.

And then, like a gift from the Gods, Owen cleared his throat and said, "So, someone broke Sloan's penis."

She looked over at him, with wide eyes. Well, this was unexpected.

"Torres had me look at it."

"What-Torres broke it? I thought she was a lesbian now."

"No, no it's wasn't her," Owen said, laughing slightly. "She made sure that I knew that."

"Oh, well, sucks for McSteamy." A moment's pause and then a sliver of a smile. "Probably some delayed karma there."

Owen chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he nodded. Yeah, from what he'd heard the guy did a lot in his time to get a well-deserved hit of karma. The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. Owen gestured for her to go first and she gave him a half-smile, stepping past him and out of the elevator. She looked back for a moment but he had already turned down the hall. Allowing herself one moment to watch his retreating form, she took a deep breath and then continued on her way to the OR.

**A/N: Yes, I know you probably hate me for watching that episode and only coming up with this. But I could just picture Owen using the Mark-penis-story to break the tension. And then I had to write it :)**


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